


Holiday

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, post-reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry Christmas. Christmas-related but not actually Christmas fluff post-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. I can explain. I wanted to write a Christmas fic and I'm trying to keep canon as best I can and not make it too insane.
> 
> The bottom line is for this fic-- Christmas isn't really celebrated as a formal thing in No. 6. It's not so post-apocalyptic as to not /have/ Christmas, but the religious meaning and the like kind of is put on the back burner in favor of 'oh this is something to celebrate!'. 
> 
> That's all. Enjoy. c:

SEPTEMBER

              Nezumi flings open the door and throws himself onto the sofa face-first with no intention of standing up again, ever. Shion looks up from a  _Tale of Two Cities_  questioningly. 

              “It’s only noon, why are you back?” Shion asks in a way Nezumi knows is meant to sound sensitive but has an additional layer of concern that appears far more  _monetarily_  based. 

              “I didn’t get fired.” Nezumi grumbles bitterly into the couch cushion, practically hearing the way Shion’s shoulders relax at his comment. “Don’t act so relieved— it’s a bad thing.”

              “I can’t imagine how  _not_  losing the job you’ve worked to get for a year could be anything but good—or at least not unpleasant—” 

              “Mind your double negatives Shion you weren’t raised in a barn,” Nezumi corrects, covering his head with a pillow. 

              “I don’t think my grammar is the issue here.” Shion rolls his eyes, tugging lightly at Nezumi’s scarf, trying to convince him to sit up. “What’s wrong?”

              His voice is so  _nice_ , and Nezumi groans, lifting himself up enough to flop his head onto Shion’s lap. He strokes his hair and the actor feels like a child. It’s more pleasant than he cares to admit.

              “The show results are in. Guess what we’re performing?” Nezumi digs gloomily into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Actually don’t guess-- you’ll only be disappointed—just look at this.”

              A script is flung in front of Shion’s face. It takes his eyes a couple seconds to make out the words  _A Christmas Carol_ in neatly printed black letters. “Christmas…? It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?”

              “Rehearsals have to start early, it is a period piece after all. The children also have to be trained,  _shit_ , their voices are going to be obnoxious— “ Nezumi complains, stretching out his arms and legs, effectively taking up as much of the sofa as he possibly can. He lamely headbutts Shion’s thigh when he notices the genuine joy overtaking his companion’s face as he flips through the script. “—Shion.”

              “This is  _wonderful_! I was just working my way through Dickens too!” Shion holds  _A Tale of Two Cities_ in front of Nezumi’s facelike Rikiga with the new column of the week. “Who are you playing?” 

              “Bob Cratchit at your service.” Nezumi sighs, unenthused. Shion seems to take it as a cue to be more disgustingly excited about his crappy role. He shifts and Nezumi can no longer rest his head on his warm lap and is instead forced to sit up and look at him properly. Nezumi scowls.

              “You get to play a father! A working, family-man too, how unusual for you!” Nezumi rolls his eyes, and Shion elbows him a little harder than he means to. “How are you not more excited about this? You’re always complaining about being typecast.”

              “Shion, it’s a  _Christmas Carol_ not  _Death of a Salesman,_  calm down,” Nezumi mumbles, but judging by the way he straightens up, Shion can tell his enthusiasm is starting to catch. Nezumi runs a hand through his hair, fidgeting with his ponytail before unknotting it with graceful fingers. He’s nervous, Shion realizes, although his voice sounds anything but. 

              “It’s a stupid show—Christmas is archaic.” Nezumi says evenly, seeming to make up his mind. Shion raises an eyebrow. 

              “You want to add a ‘bah humbug’ to that, or is it implied?” Nezumi makes an annoyed noise in reply, which Shion ignores, taking Nezumi’s hand and playing with his fingers comfortingly. “Some still celebrate Christmas. Not so much in this city, but still, some celebrate. It’s  _nice_. You seemed to enjoy our dinner last year.”

              Nezumi waves his hand away, irritated. “It’s an idiotically uniting thing—it seems every theatre I passed in my travels was piling on the Christmas Carol for winter.” He drops his voice, and looks at Shion condemningly. “It’s completely over-played, how about people try being a bit more creative for once in their lives?”

              “So you’re too good for a  _Christmas Carol_ , now? How far you’ve come from humble roots.” Shion remarks in playful-seriousness, successfully causing Nezumi to crack a smile.

              “ _Humble_  is a tad bit generous for my roots, wouldn’t you say?” Nezumi replies, roughly tugging at a tangle in his hair. To his surprise, Shion pushes his hand away and begins fixing it himself. Nezumi shuts his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Shion’s gentle hands. It’s a simple action, but it means a lot.

              “What’s really bothering you?” Shion asks straightforwardly, now finished with the tangle-- resting his arms on Nezumi’s shoulders. Having wrapped his arms around Shion’s waist, Nezumi makes quick work of pulling him into his lap like a comfortable Shion-shaped blanket. He rests his chin on Shion’s shoulder and everything feels right again for a moment.

              “Nothing at all.” He breathes in, and can practically feel Shion’s curious eyes boring into him-- dragging him back to miserable, Christmas-filled reality. 

              “Why are you so insistent about this anyway?” Nezumi grumbles, opportunistically deciding to layer kisses on Shion’s pale neck. “Can’t we just agree that I’m not doing it and I don’t want to talk about why?” he punctuates his comment by nipping teasingly at the slightly raised scar.

              While Shion’s flattered by the tactic and Nezumi’s lips are always welcome on any and every part of his person at all times—work and fights excluded— he indulges only briefly before politely pushing Nezumi’s face away. “I’d normally respect that, but you’re worrying me. Is something wrong with the theatre?”

              “The theatre  _you_  built? No, nothing, it’s perfect. It’s all perfect. As always. All of this is so  _perfect_  except—” Nezumi rubs his forehead, and Shion looks at him expectantly. He traces some sort of meaningless design into the sofa cushion with his finger before caving. “—Except there are three shows on Christmas, and I happen to enjoy your mother’s cooking and eating dinner with you and her and  _maybe_  Inukashi’s stupid mutt once in a blue moon. So I don’t need to do the show—your mama’s dinner is more important." 

              The look of shock on Shion’s face doesn’t last long, quickly melting into something soft that makes Nezumi’s stomach flutter uncomfortably. He looks away. “You may now proceed to make fun of me.”

              Shion does not disappoint, smiling as he nuzzles Nezumi’s cheek with his nose, voice dripping with such  _awe_ , that Nezumi can feel himself flush. “You really are becoming a family man, Nezumi—I’d never have dreamed—“ He pauses, reconsidering, voice suddenly serious. “I hope you know, you’re never allowed to call me a mama’s boy again, after a statement like that.”

              And there’s an ancient impulse to say something cruel in response like ‘my mother is dead’, but Nezumi crushes it, even though it’s true—because Karan isn’t his mother, not officially—but sometimes in moments of weakness and support it feels that way, and it’s not an entirely unacceptable way to live. It’s downright  _pleasing_ , actually.

              So Nezumi laughs, an honest laugh, and nods. “I guess I can’t, look what you’ve done to me.”

              Shion kisses his cheek.


End file.
